


Dazed and confused

by oliverwalsh



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverwalsh/pseuds/oliverwalsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver loves his job as a librarian and has a hard time not letting the books take over his entire life. At least until the library's coffee shop gets a new barista with soft brown eyes and a crooked smirk that makes it hard to even remember his order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dazed and confused

i

If he could, Oliver Hampton would most likely set up a tent at his work; refusing to ever leave the building. Of course, he’d have to bring his laptop and quite a large amount of snacks but he’d definitely never have a boring moment in his entire life again. His co-worker, Lorna, has been there for thirty years and tends to react to his heart-eyed eyes with a look that says she’s going to pity him by the time he’s been there for more than two years. It gets boring fast, she says, and soon makes you wish you had chosen any career but this. There’s never enough money, she says, and never enough dedication or demand from the customers to do something new.  


But even if he’s still only two months into his second year, he’s pretty sure the puffy, white cloud he’s jumping around on is there to stay. The rows, the seemingly endless rows, of books. Watching small children squeal as they find the book they’ve been wanting to read, or teenagers intensively studying every shelf with a pile of books already in their arms. God, just the sight of the books. And the smell of them. Sometimes, he likes to just walk around and touch them, look through them just to feel the paper between his fingertips. He doesn’t understand how this can somehow ever be boring; what’s more more magical than holding an entire world in your hands? Especially not after he manages to get the idea about a library cat through. He even assigns himself the task to find the right one. Minerva is the oldest cat at the shelter, quiet and one-eyed. It takes exactly two pats on her back before she comes undone, rubbing her furry cheek against his. She’s thundercloud grey and her observing pale yellow eye reminds him of lightning; bright and powerful. Not even Lorna has anything bad to say when he brings her home.  


Because it is home. He’s there more than he should be, reluctant to go home when he’s supposed to. He’s even found himself staying the night. Accidental, of course. As much as Minerva seems to enjoy her free roaming hours between closing hours and opening hours, he finds it hard to leave her. Her and the books. Sometimes, he crawls up in his office chair with a cat in his lap and a book resting on her soft fur. Just an hour, he tells himself. Every time, he wakes up by the thirty past six alarm on his phone - still in his office chair with a snoring cat and a half-read book as company. But see, that’s the good part about working at the city’s main library.  


In the left corner of the library, there’s the coffee shop. It’s not really a part of the library, they just share a building. Coffee and books go well together, after all. Since his first day, Oliver has been visiting at least twice a day. It’s always the same, he doesn’t even have to say his order anymore. Both Imam and Robbie make it so good he’d be willing to pay double the price. So, when he finds himself face-to-face with an unknown barista… he has a hard time even remembering his own name. It’s already been a long night - he stayed around and read until three thirty before succumbing to his tired body’s pleas. However, it seemingly wasn’t enough to avoid dark bags under his eyes and a slightly dazed and confused look on his face after all. Minerva had woken him at six by biting his nose. She’d been out of food. Disaster. 

“I, uh…,” He tries, glancing around sleepily. “Where’s Robbie?”

“I have no idea who that is,” The barista answers, a crooked smirk on his face as he takes in the utter sleepy confusion Oliver’s radiating to anyone within eight feet. Even if he’s so wrong and out of place and making things confusing in a way that he’s obviously entertained by, he’s kind of cute. Dark hair in a hairstyle that says “I put hair gel in it but as little as possible to make it seem effortless” and glittering brown eyes. He doesn’t have a full-on beard like Robbie, but there’s some dark scruff upon his face. The bright red t-shirt looks good on him, tight in all the right places, but definitely out of place, especially with the apron that goes along with it. He looks a lot more like one of those young models who barely wear a thing. Oliver blushes at the thought. He should stop judging people. His mother raised him better than that. 

“Are you going to order, or?” The cute guy adds, raising an eyebrow in what seems to be curious amusement. 

“Uh, yeah…” He starts, trying to figure out what the hell his order is. He has a morning order and an afternoon order. “I would like a Caramel Macchiato with, uh, extra-extra caramel.” 

“A Caramel Macchiato,” The guy says, nodding before he starts to get to work. “Not too bad. I almost pegged you for the Espresso and nothing but Espresso type.” 

“How come?” 

“You look like you could need it,” He says. As he notices the reaction brewing on Oliver’s face, he quickly adds, “I mean, you look a bit tired.” 

“Oh... Yeah.” Oliver reaches a hand up to gently rub his eyes, just the slightest tint of pink on his cheeks. “I was reading a good book; was up a bit too long than I should’ve.” 

“I see. Yet, you’re here at the library, eight in the morning. I guess that answers the “What do you do for fun?” question.” 

“I work here.” 

“Oh.” Connor, as his name card says when he finally stands still long enough for Oliver’s tired brain to connect the letters, looks even more amused - if possible. 

“I also fell asleep here last night. This morning. I mean, during my reading.” 

“Must’ve been a hell of a book.” 

“Not really, I just…, well yeah, it was the novel-version of one of the Assassin’s Creed games.” 

“Could’ve been way worse. I stopped playing after Black Flag, though.” 

“Oh?” 

“Nobody will ever beat that sexy pirate,” Connor looks up at him with a wide grin before handing over his coffee. But before Oliver’s able to comment, he hits some buttons on the cash register. “That’ll be four dollars, thanks.” 

ii

For lunch, his co-worker Keisha convinces him to go to Pizza Hut just down the street. It’s nice. He’s always loved their crust and downs an entire medium pizza on his own; which is sure needed because after lunch, it’s time to help an entire class of ten years old pick out some books to bring back to school. It’s hard for him to not give them all tips on his favourite books. He’s so caught up in it that Keisha gets his afternoon coffee for him, but he barely drinks any of it because one of the kids wants to discuss the Earthsea Cycle series and they both get overly excited about having a discussion about one of the best fantasy series ever. She’s only read the first one and they spent at least fifteen minutes trying to find the second one.

“Here it is!” Oliver announces with a rush of relief. It’s jammed between two books at least three bookshelves away from where it’s supposed to be. But it’s hard to feel even a little bit upset about it at the moment. The little girl grins wide as he places the book in her hands, her dark green eyes full of excitement about continuing reading about Ged and his adventures. How could this job ever get boring, he wonders. 

“You might never get it back!” 

“How would everyone else read it then?” She ponders on this for a few seconds, a thoughtful look in her eyes, but doesn’t seem to find a good way around this. 

“I’m gonna make sure it’s back right on time!” 

iii

It’s the first evening in weeks that he leaves the library when his shift ends. He doesn’t really want to but he’s got to be up early. It’s Isaac’s, his best friend, birthday the following day and he’s already promised to go away on a fun little trip together. It’s too late to cancel now. Besides, he’s gotten the next three days off work. His boss almost looked relieved when he asked for it. Like she’d been wondering if he didn’t have a life outside the library at all. He occasionally has - whenever he feels like it. It isn’t very often. But the trip is fine. They’re in Florida; two days at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. It’s the best vacation he’s had in years. It’s a special feeling being able to read Harry Potter while drink butterbeer in Hogsmeade. They stay until the staff nearly kicks them out; giggling together in their new Hogwarts robes. But the most fun is his friend’s daughter, asking the kind of questions about the world of Harry Potter he’d only get weird looks for at his age. Do they have charms that will make a brownie bigger? She really wants to know because her daddy makes the smallest ones. Isaac threatens to refuse buying her any candy the following day. She just grins at Oliver and they continue throwing questions at each other. Isaac demands equal treatment even if he’s Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff. Oliver promises to get him a recipe book about brownies.

iv

It’s even with a little sadness that he goes back to work; the memories of his time in Harry Potter’s world so fresh and wonderful. He pretends he’s the librarian at the Hogwarts’ library all the way to the coffee shop for his morning coffee. It’s the only place that could possibly be better to have as a work place than this one, he muses. But then again, Hogwarts’ library probably doesn’t have a place to buy really good coffee at.

“I was almost worried you’d gotten a heart attack from all that extra, extra caramel,” The familiar but still slightly unfamiliar voice pulls him back into reality. He blinks a few time, taking in the pretty face in front of him. Right. Connor, the new barista, is grinning at him; there’s almost a touch of excitement on his face even though Oliver can’t really figure out why. 

“Oh? No,” He chuckles softly. 

“Oliver here is at least seventy percent caramel,” Imam says as she comes walking with a plastic box of dirty mugs and such in her arms. “If we could somehow add more caramel, he would be on it like wild fire.” 

“I was wondering where you were at,” Oliver says, relief rushing through him at the sight of his favourite barista. Is that a thing people have? Favourite baristas? Oliver certainly does. She’s the one who suggested extra, extra caramel instead of just extra. “And Robbie.” 

“Robbie’s out. Decided he was too good for coffee making. We’ve got this one with us instead,” She says, nodding her towards Connor - who looks sort of frustrated, like he considers Imam’s presence a bother rather than a pleasure. Oliver wonders why. She’s by far the nicest, most patient barista he’s ever met. And he’s met quite a few; having been drinking coffee since the age of sixteen. 

“Oh, I see. Yeah, I met him the other day. He does nice coffee.” Does nice coffee? Well, he better hope he does. He’s a god damn barista, isn’t he? 

“So, I’m guessing an extra, extra caramel is on your want-list this morning too?” Connor asks, staring at him like he’s demanding his full attention. It’s hard not to stare back. He has beautiful brown eyes. No matter the emotion, they always seem to be glittering like twinkling stars in the night sky. He should be an eye model, Oliver thinks. 

“Yeah, and a sandwich. I forgot my breakfast at home,” He replies, scratching the top of his head in thought. He forgets a lot. But he forgets that he forgot even more often. At least he’s trying. Breakfast is supposed to be important. “Focaccia with, uuuuuh, baba ganoush and feta.” 

“I’ll get on it,” Imam says, heading over towards the sandwich-making counter. Connor’s half-through making his coffee already. 

“So, what do you do?” 

“Huh?” The barista looks up at him with slight confusion on his face. 

“If you don’t play Assassin’s Creed anymore.” 

“I study Criminal Law, and I make coffee for people who demand strange things like extra, extra caramel in something that already includes lots of caramel.” 

“There’s no such thing as too much caramel.” This one time, Oliver downed a whole tube of caramel sauce. It actually wasn’t too bad. 

“Tell that to your clogged arteries,” Connor hands his coffee over with a half-disgusted, half-amused look on his face. 

“This isn’t a good time to tell you my favourite meal is fried chicken, is it?” 

“Let me guess, you prefer fried okra, and I don’t know, french fries to that.” 

“You’re not entirely wrong.” 

“Sandwich’s done. That’ll be eight dollars,” Imam says, handing him the wrapped up sandwich. “I added extra feta just for you.” She flashes him a soft smile, taking up the five dollar bill and the three one dollar bills he fishes out of his wallet. “He gets off at three, just saying,” She adds, nodding over at Connor. 

“What? I wasn’t, I…” Oliver’s whole face flushes bright red and he doesn’t even dare to look over at the other man; even though he can tell that his lips have curled up into a crooked smirk. He’s probably amused. A little flattered that one of the librarians might have the hots for him. Not that he does. Okay, maybe hots. Definitely not the Hots though. It’d be pointless. He may be working at a coffee shop at the moment but anyone can see that Connor doesn’t really belong there. Not that Imam does. But Connor looks like the kind of guy whose childhood home has at least eighteen rooms and a gigantic pool with a waterslide. Perhaps even a garden that’s half a god damn forest. 

“Don’t you have bookshelves to organise?” Imam teases, perhaps even helping him return to reality. He must look like a fool. Utterly red in the face and deep into his own thoughts. 

“Right. I do, I do,” He murmurs, walking as fast as he can without jogging towards his office. It’s a relief to bury himself into the book suggestions giving by the library’s visitors. There’s a pile of them but only money enough for maybe half of them. It’s the sort of struggle he needs to get Connor’s smirking face out of his mind. 

v

He makes sure to wait until just before four in the afternoon before he goes for his afternoon cup. He doesn’t want Imam to get ideas, and he certainly doesn’t know if he will be able to not blush at the mere sight of Connor. It feels embarrassing to think that Connor might think he’s into him. He’s not. At least he doesn’t think so. He just wouldn’t mind seeing that face a few more times. It isn’t the same as a proper crush; he’s not the kind to get one after seeing a person twice for about five minutes - and he certainly doesn’t want the guy to think so.

“Hey,” Imam offers softly with a concerned look on her face. “I was just teasing earlier, I didn’t mean…” 

“No, that’s okay,” He shrugs. 

“To be honest though, I think he’s into you.” 

“W-what?” Oliver stutters, nearly dropping the book he’s carrying. It’s from the library so it probably wouldn’t look good if he did. Not that he has never dropped any books before. Because oh, he has. 

“He kept looking after you when you went.” 

“You told him I’m like, in love with him.” 

“I said you were into him. There’s a difference. Besides, are you really trying to tell me there’s not even a tiny part of you enjoying that fine face of his? You should see his ass; it’s even better. But, he plays for your team. That’s why I’m trying to get my best customer to win the prize.” 

“How do you know he’s, uh…?” God, he feels like the stumbling, stuttering fifteen year old he used to be when he was just about to come out of the closet, lusting for other gay boys nearby. 

“He practically had eye sex with a customer yesterday. The customer was definitely male. I mean, yes. He might be bisexual. But I’m not and he’s no girl, is he?” 

“I guess not. He could be non-binary.” 

“Oh my god, Hampton. Binary or non-binary, he’s obviously at least partly masculine. That means he’s right up your alley. Aren’t you into masculinity and all that?” 

“I… I guess.” 

“Then again, he’s so pretty he’s probably going to end up being a serial killer of some sort. It’s always the pretty white males.” Oliver snorts at that; loud enough for the person at the table nearby to turn around and stare at him. He pretends not to notice, giving Imam a sheepish grin. Almost identical to the one she’s flashing him. “Here’s your coffee. A large vanilla latte. May you enjoy it as much as you seem to have enjoyed all the other ones.” 

“Thanks.” 

vi

The week rolls on by. It’s a busy one, and Oliver barely has time to chit chat with even Imam when he shows up for his coffee. Connor is only there a handful of times. He did say he studied too. Imam doesn’t, she’s saving up to buy a house together with her girlfriend, so she seems to be constantly working. It’s fine, she says. She gets to pick the radio station for the next two weeks after Sandra had an emergency party to go to when Oliver was on vacation. Sandra tends to do that but Imam doesn’t mind these days. She might even name the new house Sandra if she gives her just a few more shifts.

vii

It’s suddenly Tuesday. A new week, slightly busy but nowhere near as chaotic as the previous one. He’s carrying books; returning them to their shelves after visiting passionate readers all over town. It’s early afternoon and he’s got the biography section left. Perfect match really, it’s close to the coffee shop. Returns, then coffee. His stomach is growling. He might even get a brownie or perhaps even a chocolate muffin. They’ve got the best kind; with pieces of chocolate all over. But there’s more books than he originally thought - biographies must be trendy this year, or something. His arms are struggling to keep them all in check while still seeing the path in front of him. The last thing he wants to do is slip on a piece of paper or run right into some kid. That’d be just great. Oliver pokes his tongue out in concentration, reaching a knee up to support the books from underneath. It feels like his limbs are going in every direction to keep the rogue books on track.  


That’s when he realises. From behind the counter, Connor is studying at him with his soft brown eyes. His gaze is intense and curious; it’s hard not to drown in those god damn eyes. Oliver feels him starting to sweat; suddenly filled to the brim with performance anxiety. Do not fall. Do not drop a book. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He feels the books slip out of his arms and his feet getting tangled up. It’s a mess of Oliver and books that end up in a big blob on the floor; his fall only softened by a book. He swears he sees golden stars as he slams head-first to the floor. There’s something red and wet on his hand as he reaches up to rub his nose. 

“Fuck, are you okay?” Connor’s voice is so close. There’s no way he could’ve gotten here so fast. Except that must be a lie because the arms helping him up to his feet feel quite real. 

“I, uh,” Oliver is a bit confused at where to start, really. It was a good slam. Too bad it wasn’t basketball. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re _bleeding_.” 

“This is nothing. I once fell off a roof. That was quite something.” And it was. He’d spent a week at the hospital, nursing two broken legs. It was a long time ago, he’d barely been nine at the time. The only reason he went up there in the first place was because his brother threw his book up on the roof. He’d always preferred Star Trek over Star Wars, that bastard. Oliver knows, like rational people, that the two can hardly ever be compared. They’re both masterpieces - in need of no bashing of each other to be valid. 

“I’ll take you to the bathroom at least,” Connor mutters, seemingly both frustrated and confused by that reply, as he picks up all the books; leaving them on the nearest table. 

“We can’t just leave them there.” 

“It’s okay, they live here.” 

That’s a really fucking golden point. Oliver allows himself to be taken away. To the bathroom, at least. Connor seems to almost want to wrap an arm around him, guiding him. Perhaps because he says that first thing out loud. The restroom is quite small but Connor squeezes in after him with a determined look on his face. At least he doesn’t have to tell Oliver to sit down on the toilet lid. He does that happily - everything still kind of spinning. 

“You hit that floor pretty hard.” 

“Yeah, I know. I felt it.” Connor can’t help but snort, dabbing a wet paper towel against the other’s aching, bloody nose. “You seem to be good at this.” 

“I know a nurse.” 

“You know a nurse?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Makes it sound like one of those nurses in Pokémon. Are they, like, bred to become nurses? They all look identical.” The-barista-law-student-with-an-apparent-part-time-interest-in-being-a-volunteer-nurse seems amused. His whole face softens when he does. It’s just the same as before; with the twinkling eyes and the same kind of pride and confidence still somewhat present in the way he carries himself. But it’s also more raw; his shoulders more relaxed, a crooked smile on his lips instead of a smirk. It’s like seeing the raw side of it. Oliver decides he likes it. 

“Maybe I should go get one of your co-workers.” 

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m just craving a cup of coffee.” He still hasn’t had his vanilla latte of the day and his stomach rumbles at the mere thought of it. 

“I’ll get you one. Besides, it’s the least I can do.” 

“You’re cleaning my bloody nose. It should be me buying you coffee.” 

“Yeah, but you fell because you were watching me, right?” Oliver just scoffs. “It’s true!” 

“I was watching you because you were watching me!” 

“See? You were watching me.” That smirk returns along with a hint of playful taunt in his voice. 

“You stared hard. I got curious.” It’s not like he never has anyone looking at him before but he’s still finds himself nervous every time, like an ant under a magnifying glass. At least today is the first time he’s actually fallen because of it. 

“You’re cute, that’s all. Especially your ass.” 

“What?” It’s hard not to blush just a little bit at that. 

“You’ve got the whole hot nerd thing going on.” 

“I’m actually quite cool. They have very good air in here. Never too cold, never too warm.” 

“Do you always make jokes when you’re nervous?” 

“Yes.” 

viii

Oliver is determined to put the books back in their places once his nose is cleaned up. Connor doesn’t seem to keen on that idea for reasons behind him. He looks like he doesn’t quite know why either.

“Look, I’ll buy you a coffee and I’ll drive you home. That was honestly a good smack. I’m surprised your nose isn’t broken.” 

“Don’t you have to work?” 

“What are they going to do? Fire me?” Connor scoffs. “I mean, yeah, that’d be crap to not have hots librarians to gaze at during the day but it’s not like there isn’t always need for a barista somewhere else.” 

“I have work.” 

“You might have a concussion.” This is a fine point because Oliver isn’t actually sure he doesn’t have one. Out of all book genres, the medical books have always been something he’s never felt like taking up. 

“I don’t even know you.” He isn’t completely sure, but he’s pretty sure people with possible concussions and an aching nose are great, weak targets for predators. 

“Uh, yeah, you do. I’ve been making your coffee several times for, like, the last two weeks.” He wants to laugh but Connor looks sincerely baffled at the mere suggestions that they’re not at least acquaintances at this point. They stare at each other for quite some time. Oliver almost thinks he sees a hint of nervousity in the other’s eyes. That does it. For some reason, he feels all tingly inside. 

“Okay, fine. But I want my coffee.” He tries to say it as nonchalant as possible. It doesn’t really go well but Connor doesn’t seem to notice. He mostly looks relieved. 

“I’ll go make it, just… Sit there,” Connor says, ordering him over towards the nearest bench. Oliver’s insides feel all tingly again and he hurries to obey the other’s demands. 

ix

“ _So_ ,” Connor says as he watches Oliver unlock his front door, stumbling into the apartment. There’s an awkward nervousness radiating off of him, like he’s not used to standing outside other people’s apartments under these kind of circumstances. He looks kind of cute and endearing, Oliver thinks as he turns around with a small smile on his lips. He wishes he’d decided to live further away from the library. The ride home was over way too soon.

“Thanks. Not just for making sure my skull wasn’t cracked, but actually bringing me home.” Connor raises an eyebrow at that. “I mean… I’ve seen a lot of horror films.” He raises the other eyebrow too, furrowing them together in a confused but yet amused look. “I’m joking. I didn’t think you’d actually… like, bring me to your cannibalistic family, or anything… God, that also sounds…” 

“I get it,” Connor laughs softly. Instead of making him blush or feel embarrassed, Oliver mostly feels at ease by the laugh. It’s warm and loud; exposing that raw, honest side of Connor that he’s only seen glimpses of so far. It makes him want laugh too. He settles for a smile but still feels that warm tingle in his stomach. 

“Do you want to come in? I’ve got like, at least half a chocolate cake in the fridge. It was, uh, discount on cakes because of the late hour I went shopping. It’s got marshmallows and sprinkles.” The nervousity is instantly replaced by an ease; Connor’s whole posture different within seconds. He’s smiling, almost shyly. They look at each other but this time it isn’t so much staring as it is gazing; taking each other in. Oliver’s lips are slightly parted as he thinks about how soft those pink lips look. He almost reaches out to graze over them with his fingertips - his fingers aching with longing for such a touch. If he’d been less oblivious, this is where he’d realise that the look in Connor’s eyes is the same kind of longing. But he’s too busy staring into at his lips, and Connor doesn’t lean in and press them against Oliver’s soft, slightly damp after the vanilla latte, lips. 

“Yeah,” he replies instead. He doesn’t need to say more as Oliver lets him inside, closing the door behind them. It’s the first time he lets the barista into his home. But it’s certainly not the last.


End file.
